


I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth

by chickadee



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 10:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11311764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickadee/pseuds/chickadee
Summary: Dorian needs to keep up with his training while traveling with Manon and the Thirteen.I meant to write a tiny, short smutty drabble, but things, uh, got out of hand.





	I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth

Dorian stepped up to the clearing where much of Manon’s Thirteen trained, focused and lethal. No one acknowledged his arrival, not so much as a hesitation as iron rang out against iron, not so much as a misstep as Sorrel and one of the twins ran together around the outskirts of the clearing at a breakneck pace. Closest to Dorian, Thea and Kaya were engaged in some sort of tantric yoga exercise, and they most certainly couldn't spare a glance for their visitor. 

And yet, Dorian knew his approach hadn't gone unnoticed by the keen senses of the witches. He'd been traveling with the Thirteen for three weeks now and knew it was nearly impossible to sneak up on an Ironteeth witch. Let alone these particular Ironteeth witches, the most well-honed and lethal of their kind.

But it wouldn't stop him from trying. 

“Well met, King?” Manon’s second called from the clearing where she was sparring with Ghislaine. 

Dorian put his hands in his pockets and picked his way across the grass, littered with weapons and pieces of discarded flying leathers. 

“Morning, Asterin. Good ride last night?” Asterin called for a break with her sparring partner and turned toward Dorian with a wicked smile. 

“Satisfactory.” Dorian forced a chuckle and tried not to let a visible shudder go down his spine. He tried not to notice how their campsite was half deserted most nights. How the Ironteeth not on watch stumbled back at dawn reeking of blood and sex and human fear. “What can I do for you, Majesty? Or are you just here to admire the view?”

“Manon asked me to train with you this morning,” Dorian lied smoothly. 

“Oh did she now?” Dorian nodded and smiled a king’s smile, knowing there was a good chance his scent gave him away. “Do I even want to know what you're planning?”

“No you do not,” Dorian crooned. Asterin barked out a laugh. There was a reason she was Dorian’s favorite. Well, second favorite.

“Well, kiddo, pick your poison.” She gestured around the makeshift training field. “We've got hand to hand combat here, archery just beyond the trees there, cardio with Sorrel if you can keep up. And if you ask nicely, Kaya and Thea might let you take a turn in the middle.” They were currently wrapped up together in a complicated pose, breathing heavily. 

“How about sword work?” Dorian asked with a hand on Damaris. 

“Your wish is my command,” Asterin purred, nodding her head to dismiss Ghislaine. Dorian took up a defensive position across from her as he drew the ancient blade and plunged down into the icy pool of his magic. 

***

During the days Aelin’s court sailed toward Ellywe, Dorian continued to train with Rowan, in both magic and non-magical skills. Rowan often demanded Dorian practice control by exercising his body and magic simultaneously. While they ran laps on the deck, Dorian’s magical hands coiled thick lengths of rope at the bow of the ship and while they fought with knives, Dorian’s mind took up a position at the oars to row with the common sailors.

Dorian knew that soon they would be called upon to reunite with the court of Terrasen. He would hate to face Rowan and admit that he'd been slacking on his training in his absence.

***

It wasn't like Manon to skip training. If another member of the Thirteen had deigned to sleep in rather than get up for morning exercises, Manon would probably reward her with an iron-tipped slap across the face. 

But Manon had been on first watch last night and Dorian had joined her. While Abraxos slowly and steadily circled the area they had made camp, Dorian slowly and steadily circled her breasts, her neck, the apex of her thighs over her flying leathers. With all four hands.

When her watch was over, Manon could barely see straight from lust. Dorian climbed off Abraxos first, then lifted Manon down like she was a child instead of a grown ass witch. There was nothing sharp and lethal left in her to protest. He'd worn it away with the steady pressure of his hands on her body and tongue along the back of her neck for the last three hours. Rather, she wrapped her legs around his waist, buried her face in his neck, and let him stalk across their camp, lower her too gently to her bedroll in the grass, strip off her leather leggings, and pleasure her over and over again for the next three hours.

Weeks ago when the Thirteen had first set out, Dorian had been shy about it. He'd wanted to hide out in the woods, taking her up against trees or straddling fallen logs grown soft with moss. Manon had only laughed at his human naivety. She was far from an exhibitonist (although that certainly wasn't uncommon among their kind), but she was a fucking Blackbeak. They'd been bred to be confident and assertive in every arena. They were raised to take what they wanted, when and where they wanted it. They were not to be cowed by their own sexuality like the meek human women Dorian had known in his glass castle. Oh no, that was not the Blackbeak way at all.

The first time, they'd been eating with most of the Thirteen around the campfire. Dorian’s plate was perched on his knees, his shirt sleeves rolled up his forearms to expose his delicate wrists as he raised small bites of roasted rabbit to his lips, then returned his knife and fork to the plate to carefully cut another bite. Manon watched him with eyes wide, blue blood pumping wildly through her nether regions. When she couldn't take it anymore, she'd dragged him by his collar to a spot just outside the reach of the firelight, and rode him hard in the grass. 

The rest of the Thirteen went on eating while Manon and Dorian provided dinner music of muffled curses, shuddered breaths, the pounding rhythm of flesh on flesh, and the choking sobs as they both came at once. Returning to the fire, no one spared Dorian a glance, except Asterin who held up a spit of roasted meat “Hungry for seconds, love, or did you get your fill?” Dorian could have sworn Manon was shaking with silent laughter beside him.

After that he became a bit bolder. Under the light of the moon, at least, he was no longer shy about bedding Manon in the presence of the other witches. Often their sighs and cries, moans and murmurings could be heard late into the night.

Manon knew her Thirteen were in an unprecedented position - having deserted the rest of the Blackbeak nation to remain loyal to Manon. And yet, her relationship with Dorian still unsettled a few of the Thirteen. Not only that she had taken the same human man into her bed night after night. And not only that this particular human man was the son of the man who had ordered their fellow witches to be bred like brood mares in the catacombs of Morath. No, what was most unsettling was the sight of Dorian riding astride Abraxos, hands settled proprietarily on Manon’s leather-clad hips. The sight of Dorian’s hands tangled in Manon’s hair while they sat side by side at the fire. The joyful and carefree sound of their most fierce and fearless warrior’s laughter unfurling on the wind. Any of the Thirteen could see that Manon was not just using Dorian for a night of pleasure. Oh no, quite to the contrary. Their Wing Leader was falling in love with the mortal bastard.

She had made it quite clear that if anyone was uncomfortable with who or how she shared her bed, they could sleep elsewhere. As the weeks passed, less and less of the witches were fleeing the campsite every time she and Dorian fell into their bedrolls at night. Although there were still plenty who flew off to seek out their own mortal companions for a night of fun and bloodshed whenever the opportunity arose.

As the sun climbed higher into the morning sky, Manon stretched leisurely. Her hips were deliciously sore from a night of flying and fucking. With the other witches off training and patrolling, Manon figured now would be the perfect time for another round with Dorian. She turned over to reach for him and found his bedroll beside hers empty. She could have sworn she felt the whisper of his magic hands caressing her in her sleep a moment before, but a glance around didn't reveal Dorian anywhere. Suddenly, she felt his magic hands again, this time cold and firm against her shirt (Dorian’s shirt), cupping her breasts. 

Oh, her naughty little princeling. Manon thought as she arched her back, pushing her breasts further into his hands. This was a new and clever trick, wasn't it?

***

Asterin watched another bead of sweat trickle down Dorian’s beautiful face. The morning was growing warm, but not warm enough to warrant the sweating. He wasn't working quite hard enough at the swordplay, either, to justify the look of concentration on his face. She was going way easy on him, of course.

He was certainly up to something. Asterin didn't know what it was, but hoped Manon wouldn't flay her alive when she found out Asterin had suspected he was concocting some sort of mischief and didn't stop it.

***

Dorian met Asterin’s next sword stroke easily, pushing her back a couple steps. He was pretty proud of himself that he was keeping up with Asterin while controlling his magic hands half a mile away at their campsite. From the feel of Manon’s trembling against his magical hands, he was doing a pretty good job back there too. He deflected another blow from Asterin and bounced a bit on his toes. Chaol would be impressed, Dorian thought. It didn't dawn on him that Manon’s second might be playing with him a little. Taking pity on Manon’s sweaty human plaything.

***

Manon didn't know how Dorian was doing it, but she would have to commend him on his impressive performance later. The strong magical hands were currently unbuttoning the oversized shirt Manon had worn to bed with surprising dexterity. She let his hands pushed the shirt off her shoulders and rake his nails across her ribs, beneath her breasts, and around her nipples in a tight circle. She shivered deliciously. With a gentle touch at her collarbone, those hands told her to lay back and she was happy to oblige.

She hadn't managed to find her undergarments after he tore them off her last night, so she lay entirely naked and writhing on the ground of their camp. His hands stroked lower and lower, across the scars on her abdomen, still tender to the touch, toward her hot and aching center.

She didn't know if he was close enough to hear her, but she let out a loud moan just in case. She liked the thought of him hovering at the tree line watching her being ravished by his own invisible hands. His trousers would be growing tight at the sight of her hot and panting for him. Perhaps he'd reach down and take his own cock in hand, stroking himself to the same rhythm he was currently stroking the tight spot just above Manon’s folds. She wanted him to dip inside her so badly. Just a little bit lower. She rolled her hips, urging him to the right spot.

His hands lightened their pressure in response to her silent demands. She could almost hear him “oh no, my witchling, not so fast.”

Impatient, she reached her hand down and sunk two of her own fingers into her wet pussy. Immediately his hands gripped her wrist hard and pushed her hand to the ground next to her hips. The other magic hand grabbed her other hand that had been making slow circles on her own peaked nipple and forced that to her side as well. Manon bucked her hips and made a low keening noise in her throat. With both magic hands occupied, there was nothing left to touch her where she needed it so desperately.

***

Dorian wondered if this is what it felt like to die. 

Asterin was no longer playing nice. Their sword fighting had taken on a new level of intensity and Dorian was barely keeping it together, in addition to the magic he was expending back in their camp.

He knew he was getting close to losing control, especially as the sound of Manon’s keening seemed to reverberate around his head, cascading down the bond he held between his mind and the magic hands. Oh, that sound would be his undoing.

Asterin was watching him carefully, even as she lunged and swept with her sword, dancing lightly on her feet. He staggered back a step as he pushed through further with his magic, giving it all he had to split his magic hands in half. Two hands to hold Manon’s, one to plunge into her body while the thumb roughly circled her clit, and one to slip two fingers between her lips for her to suck on, nearly gagging her.

His muscles were trembling. His mind was trembling. There was sweat beading on his upper lid, dropping off his brow, sluicing down his back and over his ass. His eyes were starting to roll back in his head and Asterin might have been laughing at him.

Also, he had a raging erection. And he was fairly certain every witch in the clearing was aware of that fact.

***

Four hands. Holy goddess, that was good.

Manon sucked the fingers of the magic hand Dorian had shoved into her mouth hard while her hips bucked off the ground, slamming into the hand Dorian stroked in her pussy. 

“More,” she cried around his fingers, “please, princeling.” She would kill him for this. For sending his hands when she wanted his tongue and his cock inside of her, his weight on top of her. 

As if he could sense how close she was to breaking apart completely, the hands pinning her own hands disappeared and reappeared on her breasts, twisting and pinching her nipples, hard.

With her newly free hands, she reached down to pulse her fingers against her clit. She was so close, so close.

*** 

She was so close, so close. 

Dorian could picture what she looked like, naked and writhing in the sunlight, spread bare by his four magic hands, disheveled and desperate. Her own slim fingers working her clit and plunging into her pussy along with Dorian’s cold magic. The way her face would go slack right as she fracture and screamed his name.

“DORIAN!!” She roared so loud that a murder of crows and one of the napping wyverns took to the skies in a panic. 

The witches looked toward the camp in unison. 

“Wing Leader?” Someone called out in panic, but Asterin flung out a hand to stop the witches from rushing back to camp.

She turned to Dorian with eyebrows arched so high they hit her hairline. 

“Your….handiwork, I presume?”

Boneless, he sunk to his knees in the clearing and gave Manon’s second a predatory smile.

His handiwork, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> * Title stolen from a line in the Pablo Neruda poem, In You the Earth.


End file.
